


a detective and a surgeon walk into a strip club

by Aerielz



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble, F/M, and i sincerely think he'd be more affected by it than we think, sherlock holmes deals with temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerielz/pseuds/Aerielz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An investigation leads them into a strip club, and Sherlock sees Joan in a very different setting than he's used to. Based on a tumblr gifset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a detective and a surgeon walk into a strip club

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I were freaking out because of [this](http://tickatocka.tumblr.com/post/42633450068/elementary-a-study-in-striptease-when) post on tumblr, and she insisted I wrote Sherlock's reaction to it, so here it is.
> 
> (Unbetaed, so sorry for the english. Yell at me if I wrote something too terrible, please.)

This type of setting was never exactly _unsettling_. Sherlock Holmes was certainly no prude, and it was no surprise that strip clubs showed up so much during investigations. Statistically, most criminals were men, and men liked strip clubs. Sherlock included. It was always an interesting place for him -- so many anthropological truths available for study and so many possibilities and types of people, that he usually found the lack of clothing secondary.

The fact that Joan was supposed to be there with him -- being _supposed_ the operative word -- was the unsettling part of it. She’d know better than to tease him about it, but the jokes were inevitable and he was running out of shut-up facts to tell. Not every snippet of knowledge was worthy of her silence, so he kept the final arguments for himself, just in case he needed her to just stop talking. Problem was, they were coexisting in the same place long enough so she knew how to anticipate them. And she was starting to her own arguments against them too.

She kept him sharp, he thought, but it was goddamn annoying.

At least they were undercover and she would have to wait for them to get home to say something.

Well, _he_ was undercover. She was god-knows-where.

“Holmes, where’s your associate?” Asked a man he didn’t remember the name. She would, and that’s one of the reasons he needed Joan there: to remember all those things people thought important, like smooth social interaction.

The lights dimmed; the Pink Panther theme, styled to fit the atmosphere, filled the room. Everything assumed a dangerous red tone. The air got warmer.

( _They’re building expectations by turning off the air conditioning_ , he thought, _association is a powerful thing_.)

He hummed, something like worry starting to grow in his chest.

“She’s typically very punctual about this sorts of thing.” _And she’s going to miss the show_ , he jokes with himself.

Bodies filled the stage, all lace and fishnets and vinyl. Silhouettes and faded colors.

“She’ll arrive shortly I assure--“

Spotlights on, at the stage. His eyes automatically darted to the leading figure on stage.

He was right. She did arrived shortly. In fact instantly, as if summoned. And she was undercover. Or as much as 'covered’ one can get with those clothes. Not so much as missing the show, but she was, in fact, a part of it.

Joan Watson was biting her gloves and taking them out and slapping them on her thighs. And Sherlock Holmes was hypnotized. Her hips moved in circles, her legs and lips parted and everything was an invitation. _Oh, she was good_. He was hooked, _addicted_ , to her dancing form, every part of his brain dazzled by the lascivious way she moved.

 _She lives with me_ , he thought. No, he didn’t need that now. Not while she pouted and played with a riding crop; not while she was turning around in the stage and all lights were on her and every inch of her skin he ever wanted to see was exposed. Not now when he caught himself wanting to see more.

Sherlock looked away. All she knew about her was out of the window, by then. All he knew about his own reactions to her followed.

“It would seem we’ve found Miss Watson.” He dead-panned.

Joan stepped into the crowd, arms up, swinging the lasting glove playfully, cowgirl style, -- _no, don’t think cowgirl style_ \-- wide smile and swaying hips, playing along with the individual dance time. As the lights followed the other girls around her and she ceased being the center of all attention, Joan approached her partner. He gulped instinctively when she rested one arm on his shoulder, and it would have been audible, wasn't the music so loud. She seemed completely unaffected by all of that. He had no idea were she gathered the courage to be so casual about it. 

“Did you find anything?” She asked in his ear, all business. But painfully still in-character.

“What?” He blinked, feeling slightly disoriented. It was the heat, probably, and the low lighting. Holmes was officially confused.

“Did you find anything?” She repeated, a little louder.

Why Joan used red lipstick so rarely? It suited her. And her hair should be down more often, too.

“Oh, no we were, well, waiting for you.”

“Was it worth it?” She joked. And her joke was so innocent he felt out of place.

“Oh, yes.” He regained his composure. “Now I have something to tease you for the rest of your life.”

The music started fading and the girls were retreating back to their starting places. 

“I’ll be in backstage for a while, I think one of the girls know something." She said, groaning. Her eyes narrowed when she stepped back "And, yeah, go on, tease away. This is not over, you know.”

Joan slapped his cheek with the glove and turned 180, swaying her way back to the stage. His eyes were faster than his rational brain, and the view was too much of a privilege. He followed her form, hands in a nervous clench-unclench.

He sighed, and whispered for himself: “I certainly hope it is not.”


End file.
